Ardent Strangers

by Samantha Kately

  “It’s called—” I think about his invention Le Papillon, bracing myself for the moment he laughs in my face. “The butterfly.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  The man knows I missed him from a song choice! How does he do that? “Just as well or I’d have to change the wallpaper on my phone.”

  He laughs. “Just as well.”

  “Um…” I bite my lip. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Please.”

  “I saw your wish list.”

  His gaze narrows. “Aaron, showed you that?”

  “Um… Yes?”

  “Did you see the time capsule video, as well?”

  Oh no. I’d completely forgotten about the video. His Dad.

  I nod. “Doctor Brown wanted Aaron to watch it. Aaron needed someone to watch it with him.” I’m blabbering! “I happened to be there. Sorry.”

  His jaw twitches and he focuses at something over my shoulder. One breath, two breaths later he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, it’s with an acceptance that I know those parts of his life, that he never has to explain them to me. “And you’re still here.”

  “Of course I am,” I whisper. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “That my Dad was a prick?”

  Smiling weakly, I nod.

  “Yeah, I know that now,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. He barely meets my eyes. “If you knew the years of therapy I’ve had to come to that conclusion you’d be shocked,” he laughs wryly. I place my hand on his chest. His heart is speeding. “But that wasn’t my biggest fear.”

  “Tell me.”

  “That I’d turn out just like him, that I’d turn into that bastard that hurts the ones I love. It’s the reason I’ve never had a relationship, the reason I’ve never wanted children.”

  Oh, Nate. It’s possibly the worst thing I could hear. He’s the victim, scared of becoming a monster. Worse, it’s almost as if he’s warning that he could be another Jeremy, that he might have it in him to hit me.

  “Evangeline,” he says, tilting my chin to meet his eyes. “From the moment I met you I knew I had to deal with that fear. I don’t want to be that man. I refuse to be. I would vanish before I’d ever lay a hand on you. Understand?”

  I nod, holding back tears.

  He frowns deeply. “That’s what happened to you, isn’t it? That guy Jeremy hit you?”

  I stare down at my hand on his chest, ashamed that I’d let Jeremy hurt me not once but several times. “I tried to walk away, but Jeremy had a way of convincing me to come back. I was so stupid.”

  “No. You wanted to believe that he was ultimately good, that it wouldn’t happen again. I get that.”

  I really need to change the subject. “Would it be out of line for me to say that there was one thing worth seeing on that video?”

  He tilts his head. “I can’t imagine what. But now I have to know.”

  “You—singing.”

  He places his hand dramatically over his heart. “Ah. My tortured ballad.”

  I stretch up and whisper in his ear, “Well, that ballad seriously impressed me.”

  “It did, huh?”

  I nod. “Any chance you might sing it for me one day?”

  He sways me to the music. “Not that song.”

  “Sing me anything, I don’t care.”

  “Another time.” He spins me under his arm, but I can tell that he’s distracted. Two more spins and I am swaying in his arms again. “The list, does Aaron still have it?”

  “Um…” I don’t want to tell him.

  “Evangeline?” That small knot between his brows appears and I cave.

  “I have it.”

  “Do you have it on you?” His gaze drifts to the bag at my side.

  “In my purse. But I can’t show you—”

  He searches my face. “Why not?”

  How do I say this? “Aaron might have written something on it—an amendment to his list. I was instructed not to open it until I’ve been given the green light by him.”

  He smiles. “Typical Aaron.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He’s always a step ahead of me.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I know the way his mind works better than you do, and if I’m right…” I can feel his frustration growing by the second, and as he takes my hand and gives me one last pleading look I’m not sure I can deny him any longer. “I’m not happy with my list anymore. I need to make an amendment.”

  “You do?” What is it with these men and lists? “Fine.”

  Heart beating uncomfortably, I retrieve my purse and the folded list, handing it to Nate. He pulls out a blue pen from his back jeans pocket. “Do you mind turning around so I can write?”

  With a sigh, I turn, feeling the paper rub against my bare back.

  “That sneaky…” Nathaniel mutters.

  “Is it that bad?” I shout over the music.

  “Depends on who’s reading it,” he says, leaning into my ear. Then I feel the press of the biro, and it’s the hardest I’ve ever concentrated in my life as I try to discern the turn and twist of the biro as to which letter and word he is writing next. The most I can make out is some vertical lines and a question mark.

  His hands slide to my waist and he turns me to him, passing me the folded list. His smile is as dazzling as I’ve ever seen it. Whatever he wrote during those few seconds he’s returned a changed man. Even as he leads me off the dancefloor with my hand tightly in his, his gaze flickers to mine in a way that makes my heart beat faster. He taps his lips as if he’s about to speak, then changes his mind.

  We round the cordon of ropes and Agent Hamada shifts aside to let us pass into our area. Nathaniel seems to be debating something again, and I’m dying to know what it is. I can almost see the shift in his thoughts as they move to an easier choice of words, “I’m off to the bar. Can I get you a drink?”

  “Surprise me,” I say, smiling like an idiot.

  “I know just the thing.” He kisses my forehead quickly and walks away in that confident stride of his.

  “Later, Tasha,” Brewster says, before heading over to the bar and taking up his security post near Nathaniel.

  I slump down in the seat beside Tasha and rest my stiletto boots upon the ottoman, tiredness slamming into me along with the eleven-hour days of working on Original Star. Like fairy godmothers Penny and Wendy come bearing cocktails, but before I can say thank you they retreat to the lounge beside us, not a merry smile in sight.

  “Do you know who you’re going to choose?” Tash whispers.

  “Choose?” I sip my cocktail, wishing to avoid the question altogether.

  She turns in her seat, smiling secretly. “You don’t know, do you?”

  I’m pretty sure I know.

  I shrug non-committedly.

  “You’ve really written yourself into a hole with this one,” she goes on. “What are you going to do? I mean, you have Aaron who is let’s say a well-crafted beer, as opposed to Nate…”

  I tilt my head, intrigued. “And what alcoholic beverage would he be?”

  She thinks about this for a second and taps her wine. “A vintage bottle of red, pure sophistication with chocolatey overtones and a bit of bite.”

  We stare at each other, savor the idea, then burst out laughing. The laughter fades, replaced with worry on my part. I peer across at Tasha. “Do you know what really scares me about this mess?”

  “What?”

  “I choose one and ruin a friendship that’s lasted decades.”

  She shrugs a shoulder. “They know what they’re in for. I’d say follow your heart and let them figure out the rest.”

  She’s right, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

  “I don’t think I can drink this,” I mutter, resting the glass on my knee.

  Tasha whispers beside me, “Care for some Guinness or perhaps a cab sav?”

  I smack her on the leg, laughing as my cocktail flies everywhere. A
s I leap from my chair, the purple liquor drenching my dress drips to the floor. Damn it. This is the only good dress I own. It’s cut above the knee, with silver lace and straps that widen into an ornate pattern as they rise over my shoulders. And I’ve ruined it.

  With a sigh, I swap the glass into my other hand and lick the concoction off my fingers. That’s when I notice a dashing figure standing beside me.

  “Angel, you really need to stop that,” Nathaniel says, holding a large chocolate cocktail in one hand and a whisky in the other.

  I freeze and quickly withdraw my finger.

  Tasha is back in hysterics and I want to hit her. Fortunately, she leaves for the bar.

  Nathaniel leans forward. “Are you trying to torture me?”

  “Um… yep. That was my plan.” I grin, flicking off any residual drink.

  “Tell me, should I expect any other plans of torture or is that it?”

  I squint up at him. “I’m sure I can devise others. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “Then I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he says, his eyes alight as he looks me up and down. “Might I say that you do have the most interesting accessories with your dresses. First the commando flower, now—” He puts down the drinks and lifts my hand to his nose, inhaling slowly, “—blue curacao, vodka, and wild flowers.”

  I think the alcohol must have seeped into my skin for I’m feeling light-headed as Nathaniel kisses the inside of my wrist. “Wild flowers?”

  “Your perfume.” His gaze narrows. “Or maybe that’s you. Maybe I need another sample to be sure.”

  “Sounds wise,” I agree, wondering which part in particular he might choose. I already have a few in mind…

  “May I?” he says, pointing to the bare skin around my throat.

  All I can do is nod.

  He closes the space between us. I feel like a woman under vampiric intoxication, my head tilting to the side to let him explore my scent. Any moment I’m expecting a bite—Hollywood style. What I get is Nathaniel’s nose skimming along my neck and my body warming in all the right places. His lips part softly upon my skin, and I sigh quietly. The second he pulls back I’m tempted to pull his mouth toward mine. But I don’t. Aaron lurks in the back of my thoughts, always waiting… I should take a few steps back. Instead, I whimper as Nathaniel runs his finger over my lips.

  “Damn, Eve,” he breathes.

  “What?”

  “You whimpering and sighing. You giving me all manner of ideas, which only assist in torturing me further.”

  “Oh?” I tilt my head innocently. “What kind of ideas?”

  “Another word about ideas and I might be inclined to whisk you home with me. I’ll be sure to play out each and every one of them out in exquisite and exacting detail.”

  I gasp softly as my legs clench together. Then I remember Aaron and I push away the need to replay the many ‘ideas’ that Nathaniel just featured in.

  “Now who’s torturing whom?” I say.

  “I believe you tortured me not once, but twice. Come to think of it, you do need to hear an idea.” He smiles. “Why don’t we start with the very first one that came to mind?”

  I am not going to survive this. “If you must.”

  He bites his bottom lip, and I can feel his excitement as he clasps my shoulder and turns me towards the couch. His hand warms my skin in seconds, and I grow infinitely warmer as he spreads his hands over the curve of my hips. Other than his hands, his body never touches any part of me. It’s possibly what makes this exercise more painful. He sweeps back the hair from my shoulder, and whispers, “Before anything, I’d have my agents clear the room.”

  I gulp. It takes place here?

  “And how would you do that?” I whisper over my shoulder.

  “Some cautionary evacuation. An electrical fault, maybe. Nothing huge.”

  “And then what happens?”

  His hands guide me forward, stopping me at the end of the white lounge, which I’m relieved to see is vacant. “First, run your hand over the leather.”

  I glare back at him to see if he’s serious.

  His boyish smile is back. “It’s only a seat.”

  “That’s what you say now,” I grumble, peering down to the white leather and its puffy cushions, wide headrest, and discolored stitching. It looks normal enough, but that doesn’t stop the butterflies in my stomach. I poke at the leather. It’s harder than I expected, a little aged. My fingers brush over the surface. This time it feels softer, colder, and I detect the grains running through the leather.

  “Now grab the first headrest.”

  “Huh?” I peer over my shoulder, only to discover that he’s shifted out of sight. Giving in, I slide my hand down to the right and grab hold of the headrest.

  “Now imagine both of your hands grabbing the end of the lounge.”

  I let the image take hold, resisting the urge to grip with my other hand. Then I realize what position that would put me in—me leaning slightly over the three-seater, my rear tilted back in a most uncompromising position that would have me blushing for days.

  The heat of his body warms my back. “Now imagine that I’m standing behind you—”

  I laugh. “You are standing behind me.”

  “I know,” he says lightly. “But imagine it while you’re bending forward and I’m bent over you, my hands hitching up your dress and relieving you of your panties. Are you wearing any?”

  I nod, swearing that the world might have tilted a fraction in the past minute. That, or either I’m starting to lean onto the end of the three-seater. Agh! I can’t tell anymore.

  “What kind?” he asks.

  “Seriously?”

  “If you’re after an accurate depiction then I need all the hard-cold facts. That includes underwear.”

  “Purple and silver flowers. Silk. Lace.”

  “Bra?”

  “Matching.”

  How did he get that out of me? He probably knows I’ll talk if I don’t have to look him directly in the eye.

  He presses himself behind me in that devious way of his, tempting me to give in.

  I frown, waiting for my next instalment. “Nate?” I call over the music.

  “Hm?”

  “Is that all?”

  He laughs—somewhat breathlessly, I note. “Now imagine that bra on the floor at our feet. Those straps on your dress are down, and I’m cupping your breasts as you turn your head to kiss me.” His shoe taps the inside of my heels. “I tap your boots apart—”

  My boots slide a fraction away from each other, the distance between them growing by the second, until Nathaniel’s hands slide down my hips and clamp my legs together. “One more move like that, angel, and I will be clearing the room.”

  Clear the god damned room, Nathaniel!

  I’m hot, flushed, and full of need, and I blame the man behind me for all of it!

  “I can’t do this much more,” I breathe.

  “Imagine that I tap your boots apart. We don’t bother with foreplay.”

  “We don’t?” I say, glaring back at him.

  He chuckles. “No. We’re saving that for later—when I haven’t been abstinent for innumerable weeks. Besides, you’re ready for me.”

  I scoff a laugh. “Am I?”

  I’m so ready for him it’s not funny.

  His lips brush my ear. “Now imagine my hands gripping yours like this.”

  I gasp when he shifts slightly to my right, reaches over my arm and locks his fingers between mine. I grip the leather harder, as does he.

  “Now you imagine the rest…”

  What?!

  Pure torture. There’s no other word for it.

  I turn to face him properly, ready to wipe the smile off his face. Except there is no smile. He turns his back and rumples the top of his hair. I feel like I’ve been jilted after sex. I stride past the three-seater and my friends who have now gathered near the neighboring lounge, the Ladies toilet in my line of sight.

  He tug
s at my arm. “Evangeline, wait.”

  I pull him under the archway and into the dimmer part of the pub. I can hear those blasted pokies singing their cheesy music from the next room. On the other side of the trellis and its plastic ivy, Wendy and Tasha comfort a tearful Penny as they huddle on the lounge. Viv, I note, is waiting several feet from where I am now. Agent Hamada stands several feet behind Nathaniel.

  “You’re angry. Why?” Nathaniel asks.

  “Because…you ended it like that.”

  He clasps my shoulders. “Evangeline, stop. I turned my back because I needed to pull myself together, because it left me craving you more. At the time it seemed like a good idea—to have you without really having you, without hurting Aaron. But it was the worst possible torture. This waiting is making me crazy and obviously stupid—”

  I nod in agreement, which wins me a smile.

  “—but I’m in love you.”

  I stare at him, absorbing his words.

  His gaze flickers down to my mouth before he sweeps me to the inside of the pillar, away from my friends. “I can’t wait anymore.”

  “Then don’t.”

  His forehead tilts against mine. I rise up to meet his mouth. His lips fall upon mine, parting them over and over again, each kiss softer than the last, until I’m hardly breathing at all.

  “Here, Eve,” Tasha says, startling me.

  Nice timing, Tash. I want to throttle her! Nathaniel looks to be of a similar mind.

  “I believe this is yours,” Tasha says, passing me a glass of red.

  As she wanders away, I laugh at her choice of drink. The band starts a new set, the music booming everywhere, along with an irritating beeping that hovers like an annoying fly. I take a sip of the wine and wince, then offer the glass to Nathaniel. “I don’t actually drink wine. Would you like it?”

  He shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’m more of a single malt whiskey on the rocks kind of guy.”

  Of course you are.

  I stash the wine into a pot-plant as his hands fall to my hips. His mouth is on mine at once, and I pull him closer.

  No. No, I can’t.

  Ending the kiss, I gently push him back. My voice wavers horribly, as I say, “I should talk to Aaron. As soon he gets back.”

  He steps away, regret in his eyes. “You’re right.”